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A fable for progressives

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A scorpion wanted to cross a stream but could not. He asked the frog for a lift across.

"If I give you a ride, you'll sting me and kill me."

"No, I won't. I promise I won't."

This went on until the frog assented, and let the scorpion on his back. Midway, the scorpion stung the frog, who cried, "Why did you sting me? Now we will both die!"

The scorpion said, as they both started to drown, "It is in my nature."

Comrades, I love this fable. Consider when Barack Hussein Obama presented himself to the world for the adoration which is mete, because he is who he is. Like the Spanish grandee whose position is so secure that it unassailable and he can do no no wrong, so Lord Obama can do no wrong. Because he is who he is. He's Obama, Lenindamnit!

"We need hope and change! I want to change the nature of America! Elect me president! Give me a ride on your back!"

And so America did, and Baby Barry Bama rode America all over the world, bowing to foreign leaders, some of them near enemies. Moochelle has her own expensive shopping trips but hey! If Imelda could, why not her? Lord Obama increased our spending to eye-watering levels. He increased regulation to the point of strangling business. He demands more tribute in the form of taxes. He packed the NRLB with union stalwarts determined to destroy the right-to-work states. He stole the bond-holders' money in the car companies, and has taken as much public money as possible to give to unions.

America is sinking of course, and he will not change course, because it is not in his nature.

So we made progs have the assurance of ever-advancing wealth redistribution in America, regulatory control so strict that business is run utterly by government, leaving it private in name only. People will not be able to chose whether or not to belong to a trade union, and the government will collect all the money and dole it out. And of course our own lives will be determined by Obamacare.

Rejoice! We made progs are assured socialism, fascism, and expensive, cumbersome, and rationed health care! We are one step closer to an even distribution of misery all over the planet, excepting of course for us Made Progs in our dachas.

I hereby award every member an extra beet today. Break out the Putinka!

Let's enjoy this while we can. After all, remember that there hasn't been a new car in Cuba in 50 years and I long for such days in AmeriKKKa and Barack Obama will lead us to the promised land.

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Let me be the first to raise my fine Waterford crystal goblet in salute to our Dear Leader's leadership, mi amigo!....and don't be too hard on poor old Fidel. He's very upset that Hugo is not progressing in his prstrate-cancer treatments as quickly as hoped.

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Che, I do not worry overmuch about Fidel; I know that the French actor Gerard Depardieu is also a vintner and he makes a special vintage for Fidel.

I'm trying to think. What Spanish word does "sangria" come from?

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I'll celebrate. Once I see that extra beet...

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SANGRIA, the Spanish wine, literally means bleeding. Latin sanguis is blood. There is no Indo-European “root”. Do you wish some recipes Father?

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I volunteer to sample the recipies! (we cannot have the Cube elders tasting for themselves, that is the duty of the workers...)

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I hate drinking wine. The only wine I care for is the wine others cannot afford so that I can tell them they can't afford the wine I drink and therefore segue into a policy proposal that will make my wine more affordable for them. This is what progress is all about.

The policy will entail tax increases, of course, a new federal department, thousands of apparatchiks, regulations, and a litany of economist who will coax the public into believing that my policies will help the economy. Then an army of liberals will take to Twitter and tweet how the Affordable X Wine Act will create millions of new jobs, revive the ailing countryside, re-urbanize destitute cities, and dampen the effects of climate change. It will be glorious. I hope someone is writing this down. In order to become a Spanish grandee, one must first become a Marxist -- what other system out there today absolutely empowers the masses to empower the masters absolutely? I prefer to be a French grandee, personally -- better clothes and furniture, of course.

On the scorpion issue, I believe this fable is flawed. Who are we to assign what the nature of the scorpion is or is not? Nature can be changed, comrades. As human beings, we have the ability to change anything and everything through the power of policy-making. All we need is a policy that will raise the self-esteem of the scorpion followed by strict regulations on the possession and usage of stingers. Once the scorpion's stinger is regulated -- with heavy fees and/or imprisonment -- we can then move on to providing educational opportunities for the scorpion and a jobs training program.

The frog as far as I am concerned can go f*** himself since he has the gull to suggest that the scorpion is some sort of danger based on the assumptions of others. They are merely assumptions, comrades. Facts are only facts when enough voices, or guns, declare them as facts. The scorpion being dangerous is not a fact, it is an assumption -- and most certainly a bigoted assumption to boot. If anything the frog should lose its job and be drummed out from polite society... forever. We need classes to educate the children on the dangers of frogs and the silly ideas they propagate. Oh, another policy idea!

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Meow wrote:a litany of economist
Dear Chairman, how I do love you, in a non-Bruno threatening way. (Please, I'll pay anything, even forgiving you the roofies you stole, if you could threaten Bruno.)

I know that you meant that there be more than one economist, but the TRUTH WILL OUT. You meant Paul Krugman, PBUH, a man who flew by all sense years ago and power to him. He produces a litany of course and why have more than one? When you can find one who agrees?

It's like all that inconvenient global-warming garbage: I rely on, hell, I worship, Dr. Phil of the Centre for Climactic Research at the University of East Anglia. He admitted that he made up his numbers and we have megabytes of him conspiring to traduce people who didn't think that their sky was the same color as his.

And here is the message: find one expert, and the qualifications board is up to you, who says what you want. Apply argumentum ad vericundiam, that is, "I have an expert witness so STFU," and then roll over people.

The point is: we have a dancing monkey-economist in Dr. Krugman, Nobel laureate. He's utterly, completely, reliably wrong in every single thing that he has said for a decade. He's nothing but a leftist hack mocking the very idea of scholarship in economics and I happen to know that he hasn't been able to doctor-shop enough for the requisite Haldol, because the two arguments for him not being fish wrap are either difficulty in treating his "difficulty" or a full-fledged case of commissaritis. Meaning he KNOWS he knows and all objections will be met with force. For others' good of course.

How tall is he? What's his shoe size?

So my point is, please be careful in your diction, dear Meow. We all know that it's bullshit. Hell, the union bosses know that it's bullshit. It's all bullshit. But it's terribly important for people like you and me, who have never taken the time to learn anything useful, to pretend that it is not bullshit.

Or we'd have to do something useful, like clean latrines.

The last thing that you want to admit is that we are complete and total useless twist-offs, sponges, finger-pointers and bastards, because we are anything but that.

We care™ and we have GoodIntentions™.

Harry! Harry Reid! My guest bath is not clean! Chop chop! The Rancho is the real world, so get back on my guests' shit and stop thinking about your own!

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I just received my brand new, slightly used vehicular car from our comrades in Cuba. It arrived freshly washed. . . . I could almost smell the sea, it was so immaculate.

I was hoping to receive a free frog in the exchange but it arrived deceased. I am still wondering why.

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Aren't they those party guys from Key West trying to escape their capitalistic hell-hole
to find a better life in the worker's paradise of Cuba ?

According to Fidel, this happens all the time.

Then again, " according to Fidel ", the U.S. creates hurricanes and directs them to come over his island and reek havoc on his idyllic society.

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Of course AmeriKKKa, the imperialist-swine nation, makes hurricanes. We conjure them up with the spit of our Many Titted Empress and the pickings of Baby Barry Bama's nose, and stir them in Nanski Peloski's cauldron while Janet Reno, Sheila Jackson Lee, and Janet Incompetano cackle.

"Bubble, bubble, boil and trouble,
America burn, and our debt double..."

I was fascinated to hear President Chupapinga Ahbeafukkingjerk address the UN yesterday. He was entirely right. I'm a good prog so down deep inside I have embraced the regnant anti-semitism of the European bien pensant. At every fancy dinner party in Europe you can hear, "Some of my best friends are Jews, but..."

Now I don't have anything against Jews. Most of them are progs, even though they're digging their own graves. What a labor-saving device. But as long as we're tearing down things, à bas avec les Juifs.

See this? iPhone Jew or Not Jew. Ah, the French never cease to amaze. At times they exceeded the Nazi's request for "people to transport."

So even though it's a crime in Germany to deny the Holocaust, since the President Chupapinga says so, it must be true.

Because it was said by someone who hates AmeriKKKa.

Is it too early for him to get the Nobel Peace Prize? He hates AmeriKKKa and he's not George Bush and it worked for Lord Baby Barry Bama.

Now that I've burnished my moral narcissism, I'm back to the beet fields.

Where the proles are working. What? Did you think that I work in the fields?

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Of course not !
I rather imagined that you, in all your resplendent " made progness" were rightfully relaxing in your reclining patio chair (with the umbrella), sipping on that second mojito and informing the attending kolkhozim that they missed a few beets in a patch about four rows over.

P.S. : On another thread, I see that the Government finally delivered you that port-a-potty you requisitioned last spring. In their efficiency, they transport the blue ones to the blue states first. Pretty cool, huh ?

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Krasnodar, I have had a change of heart about the Port-a-potty. I of course have my own luxurious bathroom, and my commode is of course custom made. It looks like a huge Michael Moore head, lying down, with his mouth open. It's a big unnerving after a while to put your junk into Moore's mouth, but then think of the symbolism.

Also when you do your business, it's gratifying to know that the toilet cannot possibly clog. No matter how much you eat, you make a turd which Michael Moore cannot swallow. After all, considering his output, all he swallows IS shit.

And he processes it and gives it back to us while he gets film awards, which are conferred on him by people who have just the same dietary regimen.

Back to OPS. I now insist that the proles dump in the potato fields. It's good for the fields. That's when they're working the beet fields. When they work the potato fields, I make them fertilize the beet fields.

This is prog crop rotation.

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Father Prog Theocritus wrote:... and my commode is of course custom made. It looks like a huge Michael Moore head, lying down, with his mouth open. It's a big unnerving after a while to put your junk into Moore's mouth, but then think of the symbolism.

I have heard of this! On AlGore's Internets (it has to be true if it's on the internet!)

I read of this as the practice of "teabagging!"

wait, that would make YOU...

Ummm....


Ahhhh.... I have to weed my beets.

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That would make Theo a gambler.
He's just shooting craps.

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There are two comrades here who are overdue for their semiweekly Jiffy-Lobo™ sessions.

Tovarichi, I am most emphatically not a teabagger. Not in the sense of America Left on SiriusXM. I listen to Moaning, Moronic, Murderous, Mystified, Misinformed Mike Malloy, whose explanations for his actions are the most delightful fiction since South American Magic Realism in the 80s. And spawned just as much out of perceived helplessness. Teabagger is what Mike Malloy calls people who disagree with him.

I have a video of him going outside to steal his neighbor's paper before going to his basement studio to rail against things he doesn't understand because they offend little old him, and he shakes his fist at the clouds, calling them Teabaggers.

Ah, the joys of being a progressive. We needn't worry about nuance. We always circle the wagons--they are they, sorry, them; we are we, sorry us. Any adjective that you use on them, as long as it's depreciative, is just fine. Fascist, homophobic, racist, misogynistic, hamster-hating, AWG-denier are all the same. Just the same. There is no nuance. We quit growing our intellects at 15 when we found that being a progressive was so much easier than applying analytical skills.

When in doubt, scream and shout. That's the Prog Way™.

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Krasnodar, I never gamble, except with OPM (Social Security, anyone? Solyndra?) and if I offer to bet you, either keep your money in your pocket or if you're feeling ill, it's the mickey I gave you. Call 911 instanter.

This is of course a burst of comradely frankness. Normally I would never tell someone something which might help him, because it might hurt me, and reality shines out of my ass.

Because I'm Father Prog Theocritus.

Bruno. Bruno! Bruno!!! Are you ready for the visit of the Goracle? He thinks that more reality shines out his ass than shines out mine, and I'm ready for a reality-shining-ass contest.

Any comrades want to take a flutter?

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The updated fable:

frog_scorpion.jpg

There's something about this next one:

scorpion_frog.gif

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Father Prog Theocritus wrote: So my point is, please be careful in your diction, dear Meow. We all know that it's bullshit. Hell, the union bosses know that it's bullshit. It's all bullshit. But it's terribly important for people like you and me, who have never taken the time to learn anything useful, to pretend that it is not bullshit.

Or we'd have to do something useful, like clean latrines.

Proper diction is for the little people who strive to be paid for good performance. If you noticed, and I'm sure you did, I used "gull" instead of "gall" in my previous post. Laziness at its absolute finest, Theocritus. I have absolute no regard for word choice -- no regard whatsoever. Take that you fascist American conformist bastards!

I recall once, in a previous post long ago, to demand of the collective a bevy of "winches" instead of "wenches". You can imagine my displeasure when I received the winches.
Last edited by Chairman M. S. Punchenko on 9/24/2011, 5:07 am, edited 1 time in total.
Reason for editing this post: Rick Santorum was on the TV and I felt dirty.


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Is that the new ditchion wench Krasnodar?

Father Prog Theocritus wrote:Che, I do not worry overmuch about Fidel; I know that the French actor Gerard Depardieu is also a vintner and he makes a special vintage for Fidel.

I'm trying to think. What Spanish word does "sangria" come from?

Those French - so sophisticated they piss in the aircraft aisles...

If only George Bush were so sophisticated, n-est'ce pas?

https://www.people.com/people/article/0 ... 58,00.html

Gérard Depardieu Relieves Himself in Plane Cabin: Report (People magazine)


Father Prog Theocritus wrote:/// Call 911 instanter.

This is of course a burst of comradely frankness. Normally I would never tell someone something which might help him, because it might hurt me, and reality shines out of my ass.

Because I'm Father Prog Theocritus.

///

"Instanter" being considerably more fasterer than "instant."

Others may look up your Comradely ass. I pass. I do not want to go blind.

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Rasputin, I have sent your cartoon to https://www.attackwatch.com, where it will be listed with the other obstacles to the Progressive World of Next Tuesday™. If you go instanter to a Super Jiffy-Lobo™ and get the Father Prog special (tell them I sent you), it will be counted in your favor at your sentencing.

Bear in mind, you want to make sure that all ze little grey cells are gone, mercì, M. Poirot. But don't let them take the bits which take care of the autonomic bits, you know, like bowel and bladder control and even breathing. You don't want to sound like the executives of Solyndra or god forbid Harry Reid. It's a fine line but you better look sharp to avoid this purge, comrade.

I shall have to have lost you, comrade. If only you hadn't made that cartoon. I shall say nice things about you until the new pages in the People's Encyclopedia come out, with a razor blade and new pages with your face air-brushed out.

I shall miss you, dear Rasputin. I really will.

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Meow wrote:I recall once, in a previous post long ago, to demand of the collective a bevy of "winches" instead of "wenches". You can imagine my displeasure when I received the winches.
NOW you tell me, Wenches would be easy; Whores for Progs is easy. Look at MSNBC. I had bloody hell with the winches. None of my usual sources knew what a winch was.

"It's to pull something out of a ditch," I told them.

"But we progressives DRIVE things into a ditch on purpose," was the pop-eyed answer. Finally I had to resort to the Grainger catalog. Using of course your credit card number.

How, by the way, did you like my use of your money? Do you think that Lord Baby Barry Bama can do as well with your money?

I like to think that you're a fighting liberal. Fighting just as hard as you can to make sure that the government takes your money.

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Krasnodar, you have fallen prey to the common Made Prog confusion of what we say and what we do. Words mean nothing; you have gas, you fart. You want something you can get with a lie, you lie. See how easy it is? And you mock people who are not as "honest" and "kind" as you are. And it matters not; except for Meow, who would like us to think that he wants us to take his money but I have proof that he's a gold-plated liar like Michael Moore, we'll climb a tree to tell a lie rather than stand on the ground and tell the truth.

So reality does shine out our asses. And Free Lunch, if you want to ascend to the high ranks of progitude, you must learn to affix your lips firmly to the buttocks of anyone who is useful, until such time that you get his confidence and then you, well, see that he is dispensable.

Because he's not you. And reality shines out your ass.

Get it?

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Dear Made-Prog Comrade Father Theocritus - some other stuff -Ad Infinitum.....,

It is easy to see how Bruno thrives while undergoing your tutelage.
And you are quite correct about my weaknesses...that I must admit.
Insert: ( hanging his head down in sadness for disappointing a Party member )

Therefore ......
I, Krasnodar, resolve to become what socialism wants me to be.... a mindless bastard.

Now, for starters, perhaps I should pay you a visit around, say, three in the morning and tip that damn blue Port-A-Potty into what you optimistically call "your kitchen."

Or report to the Cube about your seemingly endless supply of toilet paper that you keep stashed away in the caverns. ( and I'm not the only one who knows... so don't get any ideas)

Comrade Theo...... you are a genius..... this newly found bastardism is quite liberating!
Krasnodar out.

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Krasnodar, the reason that I took you under my wing--left, of course; I have no right wing which explains flying in circles and then crashing and burning--is that I knew you had the ability to be a mindless bastard.

A true prog will never permit drilling in ANWAR. Despite the fact that the pad sites are very small, and that the pipeline is LOVED by the caribou, and that their herds have increased, it is one of the tenets of the Prog Catechism that ANWAR drilling is bad. This is as good an exercise in mindless bastardy as I've seen.

Oh, and I'm sure you're up with me on putting ethanol in gas. It costs more money than regular gas, requiring subsidies, and it's raised corn prices enough that there were food riots in Mexico.

I am of two minds about that. We must have ethanol. It's in our religion. And that means that we just don't care about people, oh, starving in a foreign country, so long as they are starving for our moral narcissism.

But then if they starved, they couldn't take advantage of the government pamphlets on how to become a wetback and sneak into the US. [ This is true. ] So I'm ambivalent: the death of people who do not read the NYT means nothing to me; their tears are just water to me. But then they might be able to flood our schools and hospitals to cause the crisis that we so need.

To cement our reign as heartless, mindless bastards, caring nothing but for our reflection in the mirror, posturing about our feelings and our ambitions for others, as long as others must do them, and pay the bill.

This is mindless bastard week, you know. America will be driven off a cliff, you know. There can be nothing bigger than my moral arrogance, you know.

Sorry. Now I need to clean up.

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( Sorry about my delay....I wanted to comment immediately, but I had to go get Uncle Joe's permission to comment. Isn't it comforting to know he's always watching us ... over us ? )

Comrade Theo,Celebrating a DNC / Teamsters / SEIU / MSNBC sponsored " Mindless Bastards Week " is most worthy of its own thread.
How 'bout we do that ? And by we, I mean you. ( hint, hint )

Remember, nothing says " bastard " like a purple sweatshirt.
And nothing says " mindless " like Keith Olbermann.

( And don't worry about the Port-A-Potty...... it seems this strange little beast of a cave troll, whose name I shall not mention here, was inside that thing, rummaging around while making these strange, cackling noises and humming old Blue Oyster Cult tunes to himself.)
Even the goon squad ...... uh..... State Security would'nt go near it.

Krasnodar
Fabricator of Truth and Vagabond of the Outer Parts.

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Krasnodar, I do like your idea of a thread for mindless bastards; in a way though that could be an entire blog. Mindless bastards of the world Genghis Khan. But soft! Was he a mindless bastard? No, he was very smart. He was just vicious, power-mad psychopathic murderer. And of course quite the bastard.

So with Uncle Joseph Stalin, and the Chairman Mao. (I hate to say it, but our own dear Chairman Meow has a way to go to get into THAT pantheon. The pantheon of mass murderers who made the world safe for, er, no one and that's the point. Because if the world is safe, you and I would have to get a real job and we wouldn't be nearly as important.

Jeez. Here I am, hanging onto the edge of a cliff with my gnawed fingernails and you made me recall that most 7-Eleven clerks are more employable. And that won't do. I don't have to work. I don't have to be useful.

Because I'm a Made Prog.

One other tittle, Krasnodar: You call yourself Fabricator of Truth. I get that but I hope that the omission of the indefinite article was owing to a translation problem. You are most certainly A fabricator of the truth, but I will have you know that under no circumstances are you THE fabricator of the truth.

I am.

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Glorius Greetings, Comrade Father Prog Theocritus,

You may as well, Comrade, give me credit for training Barry. The weak-minded are always easy to shape. I even taught him the art of mass hypnosis - heh! heh! How about that? A room-temperature IQ able to perform mass hypnosis!!!

In 2016, you'll thank me for training Hillary.

All the best, Comrades, as we pave the way to Communism - The Destiny of All Mankind!

Saul

Anyone got a cigarette?

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Comrade F. Theocritus,

It would indeed be the acme of foolishness for me to deny your preeminence
in the area of truth fabrication.
So you will have no need to consider correcting my opinions with a 9 mm.

My specialty lies more within the area of explosive ordinance and ballistic weaponry,
along with occasional improvements made to Red Square's vodka still in his secret underground headquarters.

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Saul, I know that you trained Baby Barry Bama; he has your fingerprints all over him. (He's not that bright, you know.) He was always looking for something to justify the wonderfulness which people told him he personified and as he sailed his way through thing, working his look, he found progitude and it has stood him well.

Sure as hell beats learning anything useful or good.

Hmmm, Krasnodar. I am glad to know of your speciality in ordnance. I myself only know ordnance insofar as shooting my mouth off goes, but I would like things with a bit more velocity per second.

Don't get me wrong; I will never abandon the bitching and the posturing and the whining. That's who I AM. I'm a Made Prog. That's what I DO.

But once in a while I have the feeling that it would be nice to add a little, er, combustibility to the mix. Just as several left-wing bloggers have urged people to take to the streets.

And why not? They don't have jobs.

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To Made-Prog Theocritus,

Well, if you'd like a little more information, you know where to find me.

Control Tunnel Master.jpg


That " shining light " ability of yours could really help speed things along on getting the People's still going again. It's kinda dark back there.

And don't bring Bruno........ I'm worried that he still has a taste for nitrated explosives.

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Krasnodar, I'm so glad to have an idea of where you live. Chairman Meow and Pupovich and our Esteemed Commissarka Pinkie told me where they live.

I'm sure that by now all is forgiven. I have been listening to Elizabeth Warren, who is running for Senate against Scott Brown, the RethugliKKKan usurper in the Kennedy Senate seat, you know, the congenital one. She's lecturing at Harvard Law. She says that it's great that people make a nice little factory, but no one made anything on his own. He had to get it to market on roads that others paid for, so he needs to "pay forward."

This is like, "Government is what we decide to do together."

I swear, I am going to have to wear Depends. I just pee in my pants when I read lines by complete totalitarians like that.

Whither next? It can't be a concentration camp. Or can it?

Inquiring minds want to know. After all, as the guard in Auschwitz said to Primo Levy, "There is no 'why'" here."

You'll take the government that we decide to do together. You'll pay forward what we decide. And no, we won't tell you how much you have a right to because you're a Stalin-damned prole and you'll goddamned work until we tell you to stop!.

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Arbeit Macht Frei !

[img]images/clipart/Prog_Off.gif[/img]


I'd love to meet Elizabeth.I would then shake her hand, smile and the say something like:
" You really do take yourself seriously, don't you ? "



As always, it takes a village of idiots to raise a liberal.

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Suspicion breeds confidence. Brazil by Terry Gilliam. 1985 or so. Just great.

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hummels.jpg
I found this out by your Port-a-Potty........... nice Hummel.

BTW : I think Bruno dropped it.

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Bruno was probably distracted by something shiny. It happens, you know. A dropped piece of tin-foil from chewing gum; a bit of broken glass. Now THAT'S something to get excited about.

Bruno's taste for bling is just like Nanski's taste for OPM and other people's liberties. He can't help himself; she can't help herself.

And of course Baby Barry Bama cannot pass a mirror without preening and giving a speech. Er, the same speech. So it's all the same thing: a mental fugue for people who are, er, limited in mentality.

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Except on Sundays. Then he uses the mirror for worship service.

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It is a little-known secret that his TOTUS--the TelePrompTer of the United States actually shows his lines superimposed on images of Baby Barry Bama flying through the skies in Air Force One, like Helios. He is after all the Sun President, no? Like the Sun King.

Monsieur le President du Soleil. Zoom! Zoom!

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My Esteemed Father Prog Theocritus,

So-what if I read from my TOTUS
while riding American Croakuhs
induced to decide
to give me a ride
by hearing me say I won't "toast-'em"?

Why else would American Croakuhs
consent to a rider who'd toast-em
by stinging their backs
the way Freddie Mac
induced loans designed for foreclosin'?

T'was Lenin who said, "The best hopes
for strangling the cap'talist throats
are slogans well-styled--
As suckers for guile,
they'll witlessly furnish the rope."


--Fearless Leader

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Fearless Leader, you ought to know by now that poetry, unless it's Soviet Realism, is not done. The rhythms disturb collectivist thought, which must be ponderous and leaden.

Also poetry has a way, sometimes, of letting the cat out of the bag. Be sure to couch the most, er, rigorous, if you know what I mean and I think you do, thoughts in perfectly impenetrable prose, like Obamacare or anything by L. Ron Hubbard. Or any self-help book.

Give people Hope! Change! And gobbledygook which hurts their heads to analyze.

Why change Baby Barry Bama's playbook when he's so close to making America into a socialist paradise where we all look with resentment on our neighbors and no one rejoices except in his own self-glorification, which he knows was wrested from other people?

Mr. Obama, tear down this country!

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Comrade Theocritus,

I've read what you've written to me
about rhymes I've written to thee.
You're words appear wise,
but yet my reply
must out of my Karacter be:

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If ponderous prose you revere,
you're being apostate, I fear,
'cause reading your lecture
induced the confecture
that mixes both laughter and tears.

Image
--Fearless Leader

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Fearless Leader,

This, er, levity of yours is disturbing. A Made Prog never shows levity. It makes him less fearsome, and the whole point of progitude is being feared, and for no good reason.

After all, if we had talents and skills, we wouldn't even be progs, would we? Real People don't need progitude. They just do things. But progitude is the hatred of personal responsibility because we can't get in the middle of it, and oh, of course because nothing is our fault. Drown-her Teddy is the Lion of the Senate; Grand Kleagle Byrd was the Conscience of the Senate. Chuck Schumer in the Senate is the delight and course work of the last year of an entire college of proctology.

And, mark you, none of these people is in any way talented in any way which serves anyone but himself and people who are just, er, let's be respectful, and call them pilot fish instead of lamprey eels on the body politic.

The reason that we cannot employ levity is the same reason that a midget dressed in a leather harness, leather pants, a leather jock, cannot hold a riding crop because that would be just a bit too much and bring down the whole house of cards.

Why, and this is in camera, you know, once I got quite drunk and stoned, on some of the pills that Meow had stolen from me and I got back, with interest, and reached that point of looking into the mirror with blood-shot eyes but clear vision and I saw what I was: a glorious Made Prog.

And that was IT.

I had to burn down three widows' houses to feel good after that one.

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Hey Theo, I have a camera too !

How 'bout that Comrades ....who would'a thunk !( I got it from Bruno.....where did he get it ? Hey, I didn't ask questions. And of course it doesn't work, but I still have it. )

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If the camera has an SD card in it, then I need it back. Oh, nothing of interest, you know; I merely have a sentimental attachment to it. Under no circumstances bother your pretty little head, and teeth, boy those teeth, with using some program to figure out what pictures WERE there but which were deleted.

So, if it has an SD card in it, please send it to the Rancho.

I find I've got an extra Meow Hummel in my inventory. Would you care for it?

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Already on its way.........
Kind'a funny..... I didn't have your exact address, but the lady at the UPS counter apparently has heard of you..... when she asked me "Does he live at the Rancho?",
I just told her to send it there.
BTW: I had the good sense to do a Sargent Schulz and not fall prey to my curiouisity about your camera's contents. You know.... Don't see noth'n, won't be noth'n.
And to be honest, I didn't want to risk the remote possibility of getting any "peripheral infestations" via an errant SD card.Note: I'm not all that into Hummels....or Hummers either ( terrible mileage ).But I would be interested in some Jello.

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I got the SD card; thanks. I have taken care of the images. They were nothing that one cannot take, as long as one is a well-blooded Made Prog; they were not for the faint of heart. I just don't know why so many Proglets have trouble with pictures of a Made Prog gathering, where we all drop to all fours and sniff each other's butts, before we curl up and lick our junk and assholes. After all, what is the most important thing about a Made Prog?

He loves the smell of his own farts. Ask Chuck Schumer. The pollution in New York City is composed entirely of the farts of Made Progs. Chuck could not be a senator elsewhere; he would die without the constant inhalation of his own farts.

But the pictures can be graphic.

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I hear Schumer shines so much light out his that you can use him as a floor lamp.

And your " Made Prog depiction" was truly fascinating ...........

Now...........what about my Jello ?

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But you can only read Marx or the Koran.

Did you know that the second-biggest-selling book in Araby is Mein Kampf?

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What does Hitler have to do with jello ?

Just send me some..... and not with that crappy cafeteria fake whipped cream all over it, either. Even I, Krasnodar, have standards....... lower ones than most, to be sure. But standards never the less.


( Bwany Fwank doesn't have that problem. )

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Ah. Bonnie Fwank. You ought to see him try to roll into a ball to lick his junk. Especially since he cannot move his upper lip. This has been, I'm told, limiting his private pleasures. I do not mean gross sexual ones; we take those for granted. John Edwards, the Lion of the Senate, and indeed all of the other Kennedys. I mean the gross sensual satisfaction of taking money and liberty from people by force to do something that they may not want done, and then tell them that if they complain, they are "selfish" and ought not to complain about "giving back."

Here's the secret of progitude. Never, EVER support something which down the road does not lead to poverty, enslavement and misery, with mutual dependency and resentment whenever your neighbor gets something as small as a new lawn mower.

Free people are in general not resentful and jealous. Progs do nothing but foment resentment and jealousy; we are the Party of Envy.

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I am so envious! Perhaps some here are thinking about reparations for the useless slaughtering of chickens that has gone on since time immemorial?

If so, please give to your local collective NOW!!! Or else...


 
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